Romeo and Juliet
by Mischief's Angel
Summary: Francesca McTaggert is sick of being fed lies about who she is. Will the truth change the way she views her life? Will a chance encounter with the Brotherhood of mutants change that? And why the heck did it have to be him that found her first? Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver X OC T for future violence. (Full summary inside)
1. Living Freakshow

**Summary: Frankie McTaggert is sick of being fed lies about who she is. In a prejudice torn, messy world, she just wants to be like other people. Will the truth about who she is change the way she views her life? Will a chance encounter with the Brotherhood of mutants change that? And why the heck did it have to be him that found her first?**

**Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver X OC  
><strong>

**T for future violence and intense themes**

**Please Read and Review**

* * *

><p>Chapter 1: Living Freakshow<p>

Frankie's head pounded as her headache grew steadily more irritating. She hated the prolonged exposure to other people, but the headache it caused was a daily issue. She'd grown used to it by now. She rubbed her temples, and, unknown to her and the other students, the lights in her classroom flickered. The voices raged in her mind, each having a different series of thoughts. She couldn't discern what any of them meant, because the noise was indistinguishable and chaotic.

"Miss McTaggert?"

The sound went unheard by her. Her thoughts were too tangled in those of her fellow students.

"McTaggert."

She still couldn't hear it.

"Francesca McTaggert!"

She finally heard the yell of her irritated teacher, and looked up to see the small angry woman standing in front of her desk. Her teacher's mouth formed a thin, wrinkled scowl.

"Yes?" she squeaked quietly, embarrassed at not having heard the teacher.

"Perhaps, if you paid more attention, you would be able to answer a question in class one day!" the woman snapped.

Frankie heard various whispered remarks and laughs from the other students in the classroom. Whether these remarks had been spoken out loud, or were in the minds of the other student, she could no longer tell.

"Why don't you tell us what could be so interesting as to distract you from my lecture," the teacher insisted harshly.

"M'sorry, I have a headache," she muttered quietly.

"Miss McTaggert, you have used this excuse every day for the duration of the school-year!" the teacher nagged, "You will either have to pay attention in class, or, one day, entertain us with the truth! Until you decide, you can wait in the principle's office!"

Frankie never argued with this inevitable punishment. She simply grabbed her things and trudged out of the room. When she reached the principle's office, she entered and explained her situation. She concentrated carefully, and her principal "conveniently" let her off with a warning and told her to leave school early. There were times when mental manipulation was just so helpful. She smiled half-heartedly and left the building, shoving her books in her locker on the way out.

Frankie had figured out that she was a telepath when she was nine years old. Rather than telling anyone, she elected to develop a chronic medical condition to explain her headaches. The only times when she didn't suffer from these headache-causing floods of thought were when she was only in a room with one or two others, or when she tuned out the world with headphones and loud music. The music was her favorite option.

For now, she had a new issue. She couldn't walk home for fear that her mom would be there. If her mom saw her at home early, she would know Frankie was in trouble. Instead, she'd play hooky until it was time to go home. After all, it was only three hours. She reached into her bag to get her headphones, but when she turned her head, something in the corner of her vision caught her attention. She had seen a flash of silver, before noticing a boy standing by the corner of the school. He was a tall, pale teenager with hair that was as silver as the jacket he wore with a t-shirt and faded jeans. That, however, was not the most interesting thing about him. No, the most interesting thing was that he was staring straight at her with curious, dark eyes. She looked around her to make sure that she was the intended recipient of the stare. When she looked back, the boy was gone. She felt an odd gust of wind blow past her, but didn't think anything of either occurence.

She put her headphones on, blared her music, and just walked. It didn't matter to her where she walked, as long as she could kill time away from other people, or at least while she could block people out. She lost herself in thought as she wandered aimlessly through the city. She only wished that D.C. could be quieter and less busy at two o'clock, but there was no denying that it was always busy.

It wasn't until she broke out of her thoughts that she realized the sun was starting to go down. She panicked to herself, wondering just how long she had walked. When she checked her phone's clock, it was 5:47 and her phone alerted her of five missed calls from her mother.

"Crap!" she exclaimed, taking off in a run toward her house.

She, her mom, and her step-father all lived in a row house in one of the nearby suburban areas. It was a tall, thin, brick building with a sad set of cement steps leading to the door. When she arrived, she quickly ascended the few steps and rushed inside.

"Where have you been?!" her mother, who was of course waiting inside, demanded to know.

"I went out for a walk and lost track of time," Frankie shrugged, before trudging halfway up the stairs.

She was stopped by further frantic interrogation from her mother.

"And I suppose your phone wasn't working?! You could have answered my calls!"

Frankie groaned inwardly at her mother's typical reaction. Her mom had always been overprotective of her, rarely ever letting her spend time around other teenagers outside of school. She was generally banned from any time of a social life, but she had adapted to being very isolated.

"I didn't hear it. I had headphones on."

"I swear, someday you'll lose your hearing to those things!"

"I think I could live with that," she noted calmly, after a moment of thought.

"You'll have to explain this to your father when he gets home..." her mother sighed.

Frankie knew that he wasn't really her father. Robert was a nice pilot that her mother had married to create a "stable" family for Frankie. The two parents had always acted as thought Robert was her father. She had read the truth in his thoughts when she was a child, but she had never admitted to knowing. Neither of them knew about her uncontrollable telepathy. In fact, no one else knew. More than anything, Frankie was afraid of the reaction from her parents. She was a bright girl. The mutated genetics are always passed down through the father. She knew that her real father was not Robert, and that, whoever he was, he was likely a mutant.

"No." she finally said to her mom.

"No?"

"No, I'm not going to tell him. You can if you want, but I don't see what the big deal is with taking a walk."

"Excuse me?" her mother protested, surprised by her daughter's calm refusal.

"I'm graduating this year, Mom," she pointed out, "When I leave for college, do you really expect me to call and tell you everything I ever do? I have to be responsible for myself at some point."

She continued up the stairs until she reached her room, her place of peace and solitude. This lasted for all of ten minutes until Robert got home and was talking to her mother about the events of the day. When he called Frankie downstairs for dinner, she anticipated an unpleasant conversation.

"So, what's up?" Frankie asked, as the three sat around the table.

"You should call your mother and tell her when you're gonna be out," Robert said, in a gentle-ish, fatherly way, before taking a bite of his pasta.

Frankie could tell that he didn't feel strongly about the subject, but he was obligated to say something. She mentally applauded his weak effort.

"Well, when I'm in college-" she started again, before being cut off.

"You know, some students wait a year before going off to college. Maybe you should consider it." her mother tried to bring up casually.

"Um...no." Frankie replied, "Mom, we talked about this. I already applied to-"

"I know, I know!" her mother sighed, "But, honey, Oxford is hard to get in to. We don't even know if you'll be accepted. You could still take some time off. You know, stay home for a while"

Frankie sighed and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a letter, unfolded it, and handed it to her now tense mother.

"I already got in."

"That's great!" Robert commented supportively, before getting glared at by her mother.

"I'm afraid this just isn't going to work out this fall."

"So, you're not letting me go?" Frankie asked, knowing the answer.

"I'm saying we should wait-"

"You've said that before! I am going to college this fall. I'm sorry!"

"It's a bad idea!" her mother snapped, before regretting it.

"Why?" Frankie asked with an eerily calm, inquisitive look.

"Well...I...we..."

"Is this because my dad went there?" Frankie asked, after reading that small bit of information from the messy, panicked thoughts of her parents, "And, no, I don't mean Robert. I mean because my real father went there!"

At this point, she elected to screw secrets. She wouldn't stay here any longer.

There was no response to her comment.

"What? Did you run out of lies and cover stories?" Frankie sassed, "I am going to college, and I'm getting out of the living freakshow that is my current life!"


	2. Now You Know

**Slow build up will be finishing soon. More mutants to follow. Please Read and Review.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: Now You Know<p>

Frankie thought about the argument with her mother since she had stormed upstairs afterward. It was the next morning, and she had managed to get no sleep at all. Needless to say, the day started off miserably.

The ring of the morning school bell felt as though it pierced through her head, as Frankie continued her groggy trudge down the hallway. The noise, both regular and telepathic, was excruciating. She considered leaving the school, but she didn't want to further risk the wrath of her teachers and parents this close to graduating. An unintelligible mass of thoughts and worries about teenage stresses flooded her mind. It was so unusually hectic, that Frankie begin to lose track of which thoughts were actually her own. She attempted to concentrate on her own, which usually worked to dull the noise of the others. This time, however, when she focused, she felt a sharp pain in her head that was worse than any she had experienced before. Taken by surprise by this new feeling, she grabbed her head and snapped her eyes shut. She stumbled into another student, before backing away and then falling to the ground with a loud shriek.

Suddenly, all of the pain dulled away, and she could hear her own thoughts again. She also noticed that her thoughts were the only things that she could hear. She cautiously stood back up and then slowly opened her eyes. Her loud gasp resounded through the hallway, as she noticed that every other person in sight was now lying unconscious on the ground.

"H-hello?!" she called out, in hopes that something would change or that someone would wake up.

She slowly walked around the unmoving forms of the other students, after checking a few to learn that they were still breathing and unharmed. It was simply as if they had all fallen asleep, but couldn't be woken up. Frankie moved over into a corner of the hallway, sank down into the corner, and buried her head in her arms, which were folded over her knees.

A strong stream of wind blew papers around in the hallway, and, where the stream ended, the same silver-haired boy that Frankie had seen was standing. He paused, in surprise, to look around and see all of the people on the floor.

"Holy sh-" he started, but stopped when he saw Frankie in the corner.

She looked up from her folded arms, her tear-filled eyes pleading for help.

"What'dyoudo?" he slurred quickly, going back to surveying the situation.

"I...I don't know..." she sniffled, "I...my head hurt...and..."

"Woah..." he muttered, lightly kicking one of the teens on the floor to see if they'd wake up, "T.K.O. for the whole school."

"The whole school?!" she panicked, not realizing the extent of...whatever the heck had just happened.

"Yeah, but some of the people outside are freaking out and calling the cops, so you might wanna ditch this place for now," he stated frankly.

"What?!"

"Cops. Coming. Here." he both said and gestured in an overly-exaggerated manner.

Frankie started breathing heavily as she felt like the walls were closing in around her. It was almost summer. Graduation was two months away, and what did she do? Knock out the entire school!

"I...I ca...I can't go to jail! I didn't mean to do this! I...I..."

"Woah, woah! Calm down!" the boy interjected, "Nobody's gonna go to jail, but you've gotta get outta here, and I can help!"

"You can help me?" she asked, "Wait...who are you anyway? Why do I keep seeing you?!"

For a brief second, the boy disappeared. When he reappeared, he looked worried.

"Look, we've gotta go. I'll answer your questions later. Just get out of here."

Frankie was going to protest, but she heard sirens from incoming police cars.

"Yeah, they're right at the end of the street now." he pointed out.

Frankie just froze in her place.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" he sighed.

Frankie was going to comment, but they were outside. They were abruptly outside, before she could even register moving. Her stomach, however, had registered it, but it hadn't stopped moving. She felt as though she had dropped her brain back inside the school.

"Wha...wha...wha..."

"Look, I'm sorry. You weren't moving." he pleaded, "Don't worry about the vertigo. It'll pass soon."

Once again, Frankie slowly sank to the ground. She looked to see that the two of them were concealed beside bushes across the street from the school. Numerous squad cars were now parked outside of the building, and a crowd was beginning to gather.

"Who the heck are you?!" she whispered harshly, trying not to be noticed by any of the crowd.

"Hi. I'm Peter." he said with a sweet grin, "Nice to meet you...officially."

"Are you following me?" she said, standing from the grass, and brushing off her jeans.

"Well, there's no way to explain this without being creepy, so yeah. I am."

"Why? What did I ever do to you?!"

"You really don't remember me? We went to the same school for like three years." he scoffed light-heartedly.

"Peter..." she repeated slowly, while thinking back through her years of school.

"I didn't show up a lot, so I get it if you don't remember."

"Peter as in Peter Maximoff?" she asked, remembering hearing about him before.

"Yeah. That's me."

"You were expelled last year, weren't you?"

"Yeah...unfortunately still me." he admitted, "But it totally wasn't my fault."

"Why were you following me?!"

"Look, I figured out about your telepathy a while back. Usually, telepaths of your level have breakdowns like you just did when they're still learning how to work with their abilities. I wanted to make sure you were alright, and be there...just in case. Ya know?" he explained.

"Just in case? Just in case of what?"

"You didn't tell anyone about your..."powers", so that means you're dealing with this on your own. I wanted to be here just in case you couldn't do it on your own anymore."

"Look, that's nice, Peter, but I don't know what you're talking about," she said defensively, "There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Oh, so it's like that, huh?" he asked, seemingly genuinely.

"When you decide to stop pretending to be one of them, let me know." he remarked, gesturing over to the crowd of everyday people that had gathered around the school.

"Look-"

"Just think about it. My number's already in your phone. I took the liberty of putting it there when I walked us outside," he said, "Until then, gorgeous."

With a wink and a point, Peter disappeared.

As the crowd started spreading, Frankie recognized one of the cars. It was her mom's! Moira McTaggert pushed through the crowd, frantically looking for any sign of her daughter.

"Mom!" Frankie called from across the street, before walking over toward her mother.

"Frankie!" he mom called back with a small amount of relief, "What's going on here."

"I don't know..."

"Are you hurt? How did you get across the street?" he mother began interrogating.

"Can we just go home?" Frankie asked shyly.

Before the two could go back to the car and leave, a police officer stopped them and insisted upon asking Frankie a few questions. She adamantly refused to talk about it. When the officer reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his hand made contact and he too fell to the ground. Frankie yelped when he fell onto the grass.

"Seriously?!" she cried out for no particular reason.

When more police officers started going that way to stop whoever knocked out the unconscious officer, Frankie backed away quickly.

"Francesca?!" Moira gasped, looking from her daughter to the officer and back, "No! Not you..."

Frankie knew what she meant. She was a mutant. No matter how much her family would hate that fact, no matter how much she would hate that fact, there was no changing it.

"Now you know..." Frankie said back, before she took of running.


	3. Someone to Run With

**Hey readers! Thanks so much for your views and reviews! I love the feedback, so keep it coming! (If you want to)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: Someone to Run With<p>

This was it. She felt as thought her "normal" life was officially over! Frankie went from a normal senior in high school to hiding in the park after having run away, all in about a day.

"This is just great..." she muttered to herself, as she sat at the base of a tree she was hiding behind.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled thought the contacts list. She stopped on the newest entry.

"Peter." she read.

She thought about calling the number, or even just texting it. After considering it, she put her phone back into her bag. She repeated this entire process about seven times before finally sending a text that simply read "hi". It was less than a second before her phone buzzed to alert her that there was a reply.

"Hey" was the simple reply "What's up?"

"Knocked out a cop. Almost got arrested. Ran away. Ya know, usual Thursday."

"You wanna talk more about it?"

"I don't know."

"Did your parents find out?

Did they freak out?

You gonna go home?"

"I don't know."

"Anything you do know?"

"No."

"Where are you anyway?"

"You're my stalker. You tell me."

"Not a stalker!"

"Park."

"You want company? Running away alone sucks."

"Look, you don't have to come all the way over here."

"Why? it's not a big deal?" he said, plainly.

The only difference about this response is that he gave it in person, and his sudden presence by the tree caused Frankie to shriek and flail ungracefully from her seat.

"So you did know where I was!" she accused.

"Um, nope. I just came over."

"How do you keep doing that?!" she exclaimed more than asked, as she stood up and brushed off the dirt that her frightened spasm had gathered, "You keep like...showing up everywhere!"

"I walked."

"You walked?! Where were you before you came here?"

"At the arcade over by that mall."

"That's on the other side of town!" she scoffed, "Seriously, where were you?"

"I was at the arcade," he replied.

"Look, this is just not adding up! How is that even-"

"That's easy," he said, cutting her off before he was suddenly behind her, "I'm the fastest man alive."

He moved his hand from behind his back to reveal a flower that he was holding. He handed it to her and gave her a cheeky grin.

"I suppose you went and got this just now..." she pondered, looking at the flower.

"Yup."

"So, you've got a mutation that makes you fast?"

"We just went over this! Try and keep up with me here." he groaned.

"Why are you here?" she groaned, sinking back to her seat by the tree.

"You texted, so...I thought you might like...wanna talk." he answered shyly, confident facade fading a bit.

"You didn't have to drop everything and come ove-"

"I wanted to."

"You really like interrupting people." she noted.

"Sorry," he chuckled.

He sat down next to Frankie, took the flower from her hand, and stuck it her hair.

"So, what happened? Like with the cop and all that."

The two started their conversation with her telling him about the little bit that happened after he left the school, but it continued on changing topics until, a good number of hours later, they were talking about everything from childhood mishaps to favorite movies. Neither of them even noticed the sun start going down, until Frankie's phone started to go off.

"It's my mom..." she muttered awkwardly, looking at the number on her phone screen.

"You gonna pick up?" Peter asked, looking over her shoulder at the phone, "It's been ringing for like a whole fifteen seconds."

Frankie just sighed and shoved the phone into her bag, like she had done so many times already that day. Peter considered asking about it further, but he decided that it was best to change the topic.

"Hey, you hungry?" he said, seemingly out of the blue.

"Um...sure, but I don't know if there are any places to get decent food around here. I don't know this area," Frankie put forward, almost as an excuse to not eat, "Plus I don't have any cash or-"

"There's this great pizza place like seventeen miles from here. You've gotta try it."

And with that, he was off again.

"Do you just ignore everything I say, or is your hearing just selective?" she snarked at the empty space next to her, where he had been sitting.

"What am I gonna do?" she thought to herself, still in shock that she had simply taken off before seeing her mother's reaction to her abilities. How could she stay there? How could she face the inevitable horror and disgust of her own family. All of the worst case scenarios played out in her head again and again, like a miserable symphony. What is they just didn't want her anymore? What if they threw her out and she didn't have a place to live? Could she make it on her own without even graduating? One thing was sure: she could kiss Oxford goodbye. This was a giant mess that she didn't want or need right now...or ever!

The smell of pizza broke her out of her personal, apocalyptic thoughts. She looked to see a large, checked blanked laid out in front of her. On the blanket was a pizza box and two bottles of Coke.

"Ta-da." Peter beamed quickly, reclaiming his seat next to her.

"I can't pay you back for a pizza you know? You took off as I was explaining my "no cash" problem." Frankie sassed.

"Don't worry about it." Peter smiled.

"Where'd you get the blanket?" she wondered.

"It's a tablecloth and...that's not important." he said, slurring the last bit and preparing to change the subject.

The pizza felt as though it disappeared as fast as it had come. Both teens shoveled food and kept talking as though it were any normal day. Frankie really needed that, because, for her, there had never really been any "normal" days. This was the first time that she didn't have to worry about who and what she was. She was just herself, and Peter was just fine with being himself as well. It wasn't until it was truly dark outside that Frankie realized she had to make a decision: would she go home or keep running.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do," she sighed, "I can't just go home. This will take some time to cool off, before I can even deal with my parents."

"Well, you're not sleeping in the park here, so why don't you just come stay with me for tonight?" Peter suggested, "God, that sounded really creepy. Didn't it?"

Frankie just laughed and nodded.

"No, like my house...that I share with my mom and sister. Not just like..with me. That's...weird...er whatever."

"Thank you, Peter."

"It's just pizza and a place to crash. It's not a bit dea-"

"No. Thank you for showing up. I guess I did need someone to run with."


	4. My First Sleepover

**Dear Readers,**

**Thank you for all of your great feedback! I really love to hear that people like my story. Out of all of my writing, I tend to focus on the stories that people respond well to, so keep up the reading and reviewing.**

**~Mischief's Angel**

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: My First Sleepover<p>

"Here it is," Peter said over-dramatically, walking up to the front door of his house.

Frankie followed closely behind him, as she had been doing since they left the park. She nervously fiddled with the bottom of her hoodie and didn't say a word. Peter knocked so rapidly on the door that it sounded like a machine gun firing.

"Forgot my key..." he chuckled nervously over his shoulder to her.

Finally, after Peter impatiently stood there for a while, an older woman opened the door with a hesitantly nervous facial expression. She looked at Peter, then Frankie, then both again.

"What's he done now?" she asked Frankie, as if Peter weren't standing right there.

"Nothing, this time!" he defended, "I swear!"

The women shot him a skeptical look.

"I just need a little favor..."

"How much money this time?" she sighed in defeat.

"None. Ma, I'm not in trouble." Peter insisted again, "I just have a friend that needs a place to crash for tonight."

"Hi..." Frankie squeaked shyly.

"A friend?" Peter's mother asked, still very skeptical.

"Yeah...hi, I'm Frankie..." Frankie introduced herself awkwardly.

To her happy surprise, Peter's mother let out a sigh of relief and the stress on her face faded.

"Sure," she smiled, "Come on in, dear. Peter can show you around."

She gestured in toward the house and then walked into the kitchen, not giving the conversation a second thought.

"Wow..." Frankie said quietly to Peter, "My parents all but interrogate people I have over."

"I think she's just happy to know that I actually have like...friends...er...one anyway," Peter admitted, slurring the words quickly and nervously.

"So, you don't bring friends around a lot then?" Frankie laughed, good-naturedly picking on the nervous boy.

"Let's just get the tour over with..." he mumbled in mock offence.

Their first stop was downstairs. The basement was pretty much an apartment in itself. There was a bedroom, bathroom, and big common area. The only thing that made the large space feel smaller was the amount of stuff amassed in one corner of the room. Dozens of unopened boxes of stuff.

"Well, this is it." Peter stated, sitting on the ping pong table in the middle of the room.

"What about the rest of the house?" Frankie laughed.

"That involves going upstairs, aaaaaand we really shouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"My sister doesn't like to be bothered, so we would be better off staying down here." he said, plainly.

"Geez, sounds like you're afraid of her," Frankie joked.

She stopped when she noticed the serious expression on Peter's face.

"Anyone would be..." he mumbled.

"So...Where'd you get a full size arcade game?" she changed the subject, pointing at the bright yellow Pong console in the corner.

"That's a long story." he laughed.

"Looks like there are a lot of "long stories" in here."

"If I'd have known you'd say yes, I would've like...cleaned or something," Peter laughed shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You offered, but you didn't think I'd come?" she asked, giggling at how awkward and fidgety he had become suddenly.

"I was hoping and all, but-"

"So, what are we doing tonight?" she asked, looking around the room.

She wanted to change the subject in hopes that he would feel less awkward.

"Whatever you want," he answered happily, "We've got like movies, video games-"

"A ping pong table," Frankie added.

"Yeah, that too."

"What kinda movies do you like?"

"Whatever kind you wanna watch," he grinned, "If you don't wanna watch any I've got here, I'll just run and get more."

"That's sweet, but I'm sure what's here is fine," she said with a little smile creeping on to her face.

"Do you like horror movies...?" he asked hesitantly.

"Okay...maybe you will need to run to the store." she admitted, laughing more.

"Aww...are you too scared for horror movies?" he teased.

"I'm not scared!" she exclaimed defensively, "I'm just...I don't like "scary" movies."

"You totally are, aren't you?!" he continued.

"Shut up, Peter!" she laughed, taking a pillow from one of the old couches in the room and throwing it at the boy.

In a blur, he dodged the pillow, picked it up from the floor where it landed and threw it back. As the situation escalated, pillows flew back and fourth and the room became an active battle ground for a pillow war. It wasn't long before the jokingly irritated shouts grew loud enough to upset the other inhabitants of the house.

The fun and pillows stopped when a loud shout erupted from the top of the stairs.

"PIETRO!" a girl's voice yelled angrily, "Knock it off!"

Before Frankie could ask about who it was, or for that matter say anything at all, Peter ran up behind her and placed his hand over her mouth.

"Shhh..." he whispered with an indirect harshness.

Frankie grumbled quietly from behind his hand, but he locked his sight on the staircase. She would have been convinced that he was truly upset about something, had it not been for the distinct spark of mischief in his dark eyes. There were footsteps on the wood flooring, as the figure at the top of the stairs walked away.

"What the heck was that for?!" Frankie protested quietly, pushing his hand off of her and turning to look at him.

The two stared intensely at each other before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

"That," Peter explained between laughs, "was my delightful sister, and the reason we do not go upstairs to the second floor! Basement, safe. First floor, all good. Second floor, we're dead."

"Hmmm," Frankie sounded out thoughtfully, nodding in a deliberately over-done way, "I kinda like her."

"Now..." Peter started, before appearing on the other couch behind Frankie, "Where were we before you attacked me?"

"Attacked you?" Frankie scoffed, "Hardly!"

"No, I'm pretty sure you're the one who opened fire! I just retaliated."

"Movie."

"Oh! Right." he remembered, as he once more rushed off to appear with a box of DVDs, "Your pick."

It took them a solid hour to dig through the one box, because one or the other stopped to carefully critique and debate why each movie was a bad choice. Even thought it was Frankie's decision, Peter found reason to playfully whine about which ever DVD she selected next. Finally, they decided on Monty Python's Quest for the Holy Grail.

Frankie plopped ungracefully onto the old sofa that sat parallel to the TV. Peter quickly claimed the seat next to her, as thought he was afraid it would be taken by someone else if he didn't. It was only the two of them, so this logic made no sence to him either. All he knew was that he had to have that particular seat.

Throughout the movie, he would disappear and reappear with various drinks and snacks to share. Frankie wasn't even convinced that he had paid attention to the movie at all. He seemed utterly incapable of sitting still for more than twenty minutes at a time, but she didn't mind as long as he came back from wherever he ran off to.

The final time that he ran off was to go to the kitchen and refill the fifth soda that he had gone through, as well as getting another one for Frankie. When he skidded to a halt in the kitchen, much to his surprise, he saw his sister standing in front of the refrigerator waiting for him.

"Gah, Wanda!" he said, startled by her having stood there waiting.

"Who is that girl?" she demanded quietly.

"She's a friend. She's staying here tonight, because she got into some trouble," he answered matter-of-factly.

"But who is she?"

"Her name's Frankie, okay? That make you happy?"

"Who is she?" Wanda repeated, unwavering in her quiet but firm resolve,

"Look, she's like us, okay? I found out that she was a mutant, and I wanted to help. Unfortunately, I didn't get there in time, so the secret got out. We don't know how bad it is, so she's hiding here." he explained so quickly that, if she hadn't been used to it, she would have missed what he said entirely.

"There are a lot of people like us, Pietro. Are we going to harbor them all here? Why this one?"

"She's different. I don't know how, but she is. No telepath her age should be able to KO an entire school in ten seconds!" he went on, "This girl has mad skill, but it could be really dangerous if she doesn't figure out how to get a freaking handle on it!"

"And what? You think you can help her?" Wanda question, clearly seeing this as a bad plan.

"I helped you, didn't I. Just another telepath couldn't possibly be as powerful as you."

"Like you said. This one's "different", so it could be dangerous!" she asked, mocking his words.

"Look, if I can't help her, we know who can! If you were going through this on your own, wouldn't you want that option. I know I would! She's like us because she's a mutant, but she's also different."

"How?" Wanda asked, raising an eyebrow at her spastic brother.

"She's alone," he sighed, "We've always had each other, Wanda. We worked through this together. Frankie...Frankie doesn't have anyone. Her folks seem just about as boring and normal as they come."

There was a long pause before Wanda let out a deep sigh. She knew that her brother was right. Of the two of them, he'd always been the one that was better with this stuff.

"You really like her, huh?" she asked, the harshness falling out of her voice, as she made deliberate eye contact with the boy.

"I think so, yeah." he said, much slower and more carefully than he usually answered her questions.

"Just make sure you can handle this."

With that, Wanda silently wandered back upstairs. Peter wasted no time gathering the two drinks that he had come up for, and rushing back downstairs to deliver them. However, when he stopped in front of the sofa, he saw that Frankie had drifted off to sleep and was now laying with her head on the arm of the sofa. He smiled almost automatically before deciding on what to do. It was late, so he would just let her crash in his room. He carefully picked her up off of the couch and, after specifically reminding himself to slow down, walked her to his room. He laid her down on the small-ish mattress and threw a blanket over her.

"Night, Frankie." he said softly.

She sleepily mumbled in reply. Whether that signified that she heard him or that she was simply mumbling in her sleep, he didn't know. At the moment, it didn't matter.

"Ya know," he chuckled, "This was my first sleepover."

He then walked back into the other room to make a makeshift bed for himself on the sofa. He wasn't a big fan of sleeping, but he figured he'd give it a shot tonight.


	5. Welcome to the Family

**So, I am very behind on my updates, but I have managed to eliminate my technical issues. Therefore, I plan on posting updates more frequently. Here's another chapter. Please read and review.**

**P.S. I forgot to mention earlier that this story does take place after DOFP, but it is AU. It follows the cannon story up until the end of DOFP. This is probably the late 70s - early 80s...ish.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Welcome to the Family<p>

Frankie woke up automatically at seven o'clock, as she usually did on weekdays. It was odd to her today, due to the fact that she highly doubted school was an option. She found it highly unlikely that she would have gotten up that day anyway. She moved around, and the realization of her surroundings hit her. Rather than being on the couch, where she had fallen asleep, she woke up on a small, messy-looking bed. She sat up and tried the best that she could to brush her hair back into order, and look normal.

She trudged slowly out of the room into the main area of the basement, where streaks of sunlight struggled through the curtains of the high windows. Frankie smirked when she looked over on the couch to see a mountain of assorted blankets covering what she assumed was Peter. Since no part of him was visible, she elected to jab at the mountain to see if there was any movement. She was disappointed at the lack of startled motion, but there was a tired, groggy laugh that was barely audible.

"Peter?" she asked, sleepily.

"Hmmm…?" came the response.

"Did you really give up your room, instead of letting me sleep on the couch?"

"Yeah…" he muttered, emerging from the pile of blankets while sitting up.

"That was such a jerk move!" she laughed, picking up a pillow and whacking him over the head with it.

"Wha-why?!" he protested.

"Because, now I feel like a jerk for making you do that!"

"No, really, don't. It's fine…" he smiled.

Frankie laughed, and mentally tried to distract herself from how cute he looked with messy hair. She guessed that this was probably usual: the seriously bizarre silver bedhead, sweatpants with an old t-shirt, and...wait.

"You're hair isn't straight normally?" she asked, genuinely.

He just looked at her quietly.

"No way." she laughed, light-heartedly, "Do you seriously straighten your hair?"

"Okay, so, no," he muttered defensively, "When I run, it kinda straightens out. Also…."

The last part of his defense faded out deliberately as though he didn't want her to hear him.

"What was that again? That last bit." she prodded.

"Sometimesmysisterstraightensit,okay?!" he groaned.

"So, does it usually look like this?" she giggled, playing with a silver curl hanging down in front of his face.

"Wavy-ish...yeah."

"I like it." she noted, before taking a seat on the couch's blanket mountain.

He quickly sat next to her, and mumbled a thank you. She noticed his face turn slightly red, but she didn't say anything about it.

"So...what's next?" she wondered out loud.

"What do you mean?" he questioned.

"Well, I have successfully run from my problems, rather than trying to fix them, I've dropped everything and disappeared, and my mom is either worried or pissed off. Now, what do I do?" she sighed, "I just ditched my school and my family."

"No, you didn't." Peter reassured, "That's the best part. You have a whole new famiy now."

"A new family?"

"Yeah. It's kinda like..." he tried to explain, "Your mom is normal right?"

"I guess so."

"So, she doesn't know what you're going through. She can't really help you anymore. Now, she might just freak out. Normal people tend not to like what they're afraid of," he continued, "But people like you- like us- get it."

"You think she'll be afraid of me?" Frankie mumbled.

"Don't think of it like that," Peter said softly, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"How _exactly_ should i think of it then?"

"Look, people are really screwed up, and, no, they don't like people like us, but now we don't have to be like them."

"Why is that?"

"B'cause we're better. Duh!" he laughed.

Frankie considered this to herself. Did this weird problem of hers really make her better than normal people. That just didn't add up to her. It was wrong, but her common sense was silenced by the part of her that wanted to believe it.

"Peter!" came a voice down the stairs, "Food!"

Frankie recognized it as Peter's mother. He just shrugged and disappeared. Frankie just groaned and, assuming he forgot to wait up for her, followed him slowly up to the kitchen.

Waiting for her was a large spread of assorted breakfast foods laid out on the island counter in the room. This was way too much food for the number of people present. Mrs. Maximoff was giving Peter some type of instruction, as she gathered up her bag and keys. Frankie assumed that she was probably going to work somewhere or another. On her way out the door, she called over to Frankie and Peter.

"Help yourself," she said, "Frankie, you need anything, just ask Peter. Peter, you're in charge. Do. Not. Get. In. Trouble."

Peter nodded with a mischievous smile, as the door flew closed.

"And...she left." Frankie noted out loud.

"She does that," Peter shrugged, focusing intently on the buffet breakfast she had left them with.

"She doesn't seem to mind me just being here."

"Nope," Peter added, finishing a third box of pop-tarts.

It was about five minutes before everything that wasn't on Frankie's plate was gone.

"Geez!" she noted, looking at the empty counter in a mixture of confusion and awe, "Where you do put it?!"

"When you move faster than light, you burn a lot of energy," came a voice from behind Frankie.

Frankie spun around to see a teenage girl standing behind her. She hadn't even hear her come down the stairs. The girl had long dark hair, with bright red streaks at the ends. She wore the same colors of black and red.

"Ummm...hi," Frankie said nervously, "You must be-"

"Wanda."

"I'm-"

"Frankie."

"Ok-ay then…" Frankie retreated from the conversation attempts.

"So, you're the girl my brother won't shut up about?" Wanda asked, with a generally friendly manner.

Peter stood behind Frankie giving Wanda the best "please stop right now" gesture he could come up with.

"You were right, Pete." Wanda smirked, plotting against her brother, "She is pretty."

With that, she turned to Frankie and spoke, before grabbing an apple, from the bowl of surviving food on the kitchen counter, and leaving them to walk upstairs.

"Welcome to the family."


	6. A Student of Particular Interest

**Thank you all for reading and leaving reviews to tell me what you think. I appreciate your feedback.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: A Student of Particular Interest<p>

The classes proceeded normally, just as though it were a usual Thursday. The school in Westchester had been reopened, but only for a short time. There were only a few students, but the number was growing steadily.

At the moment, most of the older students were in class with the headmaster of the school, Professor Charles Xavier. The class was something along the lines of theoretical physics. The students believed that the class was just as "fun" as it sounded. The peaceful classroom, if there was ever peace at that school, was abruptly interrupted when the Professor stopped the lecture suddenly.

"Professor?" asked one of the concerned students, "Is everything alright?"

At the time, Charles couldn't hear the concerned commentary. His telepathic ability had suddenly registered a burst of energy that seemed far stronger than anything he had experienced before. The feeling was quickly replaced with a sharp pain that was accompanied by the telepathic sound of a girl screaming. The girl's fear was evident in the psychic blast.

"Professor?" another student asked, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he answered thoughtfully, staring off in no particular before focusing in on the student, "But, I think class is over for today."

The class cheered happily and quickly scattered out of the room. The last student there walked up to the Professor's desk, in a concerned manner. Before he could say anything, Charles picked up on his anxiety.

"So far as we know, everything is fine. However, there was a new development I would like to look into. Hank and I will be going to D.C. today. Will you be kind enough to help Ororo look over the children until I get back?"

"Of course, Professor," the boy accepted quietly.

"Thank you, Scott."

Hank McCoy had received the call from the Professor to prepare for a trip to downtown D.C., and he, even when he had asked for the fifth time, still had no idea why they were suddenly rushing out of state.

"Professor," Hank pleaded again, "We've found telepaths before. I know that's what this is. Why is this one so important?"

"This time was different," Charles answered, from his seat on the passenger side of the car they drove in, "I was so...familiar. It was as though I had a connection with this girl."

"Have we encountered her before?" Hank wondered, trying to make sense of the situation.

"No. That is why this intrigues me so much," Charles answered, mumbling more than he realized, "But her telepathic range is extraordinary. There is no way I should have been able to detect her from here, without her powers being amplified."

"So, basically, she's dangerous." Hank noted, pessimistically.

"Yes, and I'd like to get to her before he does," Charles sighed, "Or we could have a bigger problem."

"He?"

"He."

Meanwhile, the day after Frankie's incident, the Maximoff house was in an uproar of shouts, as Frankie tried desperately to win just one match of ping pong.

"This is so not fair!" she shouted, struggling to keep up with the speed that the cursed plastic orb was flying at her over and over again.

"It was your idea," Peter chuckled calmly, carelessly yet perfectly deflecting every serve or return.

"Well...I have bad ideas!" Frankie groaned, trying to find some rational reason that she came up with this.

"Just give up now," Peter groaned in an overly-exaggerated, sarcastic manner, "Beating you every time is just _so_ exhausting!"

There was a tense cease-fire of words as the ball flew back and forth until Frankie came up with an idea. If he was going to win his way, with speed, she was going to win her way, with simply being clever.

'clack, clack'

"You give up yet?" Peter laughed, as Frankie concentrated hard on the game.

'clack, clack'

"Never!"

'clack, clack'

"This is getting ridiculous! No one has ever beaten me at...well, at anything!"

'clack, clack'

"So," Frankie schemed up as a swift change of subject, "You told your sister I was pretty?"

The clacking silenced as the ball flew past a stunned Peter. The abrupt question had completely derailed his thoughts.

"HA!" Frankie cried out, "I GOT ONE!"

"It's...uh...It's still only six to six now," Peter noted, trying to recover from him mental train wreck, "And...no. No, I didn't."

"Aw, you don't think I'm pretty?" Frankie moped, feigning a deeply sarcastic offense, before laughing at his choppy, awkward reply.

"Well….but….I…."

He didn't finish before Frankie served and the game started up again.

"I am going to win this!" Frankie determined, as if yelling at the game itself.

When Peter took a particularly fierce shot at the ball, the well-aimed shot suddenly took an unnaturally sharp turn before smacking into the nearby wall and clacking down onto the floor.

"GAME, SET, MATCH!" Frankie shouted, jumping up and down happily.

"WHAT?!" Peter exclaimed, gesturing at the direction of the bizarre shot, "WHA?!"

A genuine cackle came from the stairs behind him, as Wanda descended the steps into the basement.

"WANDA!" Peter all but shrieked, mourning the loss of his undefeated lifestyle.

"You deserve it, you liar!" she said, still laughing at his pain.

"You rigged my game!" he whined, as if he was still trying to process the information, "And what did I lie about?!"

"You completely told me that you thought she was pretty!" Wanda insisted, pointing harshly at him, "You wouldn't shut up about her! I had to hear about it for hours!"

"What, seriously?" Frankie chuckled, looking at Peter's reddening face, "I was only joking when I brought that up."

"Yeah, seriously!" Wanda continued, to her brother's utter horror, "He just paced and went on and on about how cute he thought you were!"

Frankie turned to look at Peter again, but he was gone.

"You think I mortified him enough?" Wanda asked plainly,

"I think that did the job," Frankie answered, unable to stop herself from grinning like an idiot.

"He'll be hiding upstairs now. C'mon, I'll show you," Wanda shrugged, returning to the stairs.

True to Wanda's guess, Peter was camped out at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor.

Wanda just continued up the stairs past him and disappeared into her own room. Frankie sat down next to him on the step.

"Sorry about that," he muttered quickly.

Frankie just smiled, and placed a kiss on the side of his face.

"Walk me home," she laughed, bumping his shoulder with hers.

She began to stand to go downstairs, but he stopped her.

"You wanna go home?" he asked, almost hurt.

"I've gotta go home eventually, silly," she replied.

When she saw the look on his face her smile faded.

"You were serious about that whole new family thing, weren't you?"

"Why would you wanna go back?" he asked, not really heeding her question, "Your family can't help you, and they definitely can't understand you. I….er...uh...we can. Wanda and I."

"You still can."

"If you go back, I doubt your mom is gonna want us around you," he pleaded, "You won't get to see us."

"Why would she do that?" Frankie asked, a little upset by his accusation.

"Because we're freaks…" he mumbled, "Even more than most."

"I don't care," Frankie reassured, "But I've gotta at least let her know I'm safe, okay?"

"Then what?"

"Then we'll figure it out from there."

Frankie's mother had gone into code red panic mode the previous day. Now, she was just hysteric. She did her best to remain calm, but no one had seen or heard anything of Frankie. Moira and Frankie's step-father had searched everywhere that they knew she went and had found nothing. They had notified just about everyone they knew to look for her; therefore, when the doorbell rang, Moira had nothing but hope that it was someone bringing Frankie home. She was instead unpleasantly surprised to see an old friend.

"Charles?!" she gasped.

"Hello," he answered awkwardly, "Been a while."

"Hi," Hank added.

"What brings you here?" she asked, feigning a calm demeanor

She knew the answer. She also knew that it wouldn't be long before he knew about the incident at Frankie's school.

"I came to ask you a few questions," Charles admitted.

"There's nothing to ask and nothing to investigate. Nothing happens around here." she defended.

"Nothing like the 'nothing' at the school yesterday?" he asked, with no small amount of sarcasm.

"What do you want to know about?" Moira sighed.

"I would like to ask about a student."

"Frankie? Why?"

Charles cast her a deeply knowing look.

"She is a student of particular interest to me."


	7. So This Is Awkward

**Hello, lovely Readers. **

**So, this story is getting really great feedback from you guys, and I really appreciate that. I just wanted to thank you guys for reading and supporting my story. Because of the good response, I am putting in more effort to update on a regular basis. I hope you like next update and story development. Thanks!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: So...This Is Awk<strong>**ward**

"How did you find her?" Moira questioned, maintaining a confident demeanor, despite her reservations about the situation.

"The incident at her school," Charles answered plainly from across the table.

The two had been sitting awkwardly in the small dining room for long enough to create an awkward silence. Hank had finally broken it by suggesting that Moira might have questions.

"The level of telepathic energy that she released was truly remarkable," Charles continued, "Every telepath this side of Westchester should have felt it."

"So, more people know about her?" Moira worried.

"That's what concerns me." Charles signed, "None of the other telepaths at the school in New York had any idea that the anomaly occurred. It was only me. They _should _very well have picked up on the energy, but only I was able to detect it."

"Without a pre-established telepathic link, that should have been impossible." Hank added, "I mean, it was as if she deliberately tried to reach only Charles, but they've never even met...right?"

"Right." Moira answered.

"We came to find out just why and how that could have happened." Charles explained further, "I am worried about the amount of power that she is struggling with. It could be a great danger to both Frankie and those around her."

"Charles, Frankie isn't dangerous!" Moira defended.

"Not intentionally," Charles noted, "But we have seen these situations before."

"I know." Moira sighed, "I just wish that I could help her. I don't like not knowing what's happening to her. She didn't even tell me that she was going through this, so I can't even know how long she's been this way."

"It may be that this is the first time," Charles added.

"Or maybe she was too afraid to tell me. She's the only one in her family like this, so it can't be easy for her."

"Is she?" Charles inquired, raising an eyebrow at the question.

"What?" Moira asked, slightly confused by his question.

"Is she really the only person on her family like this?"

"Yes, of course." Moira answered, "You know me, and her father was about as average as it gets."

"Ah, yes. About her father…" Charles started.

"He's no longer in the picture," she admitted.

"Can you tell me about him?"

"I'd rather not."

Charles gave her a suspicious, inquisitive look.

Hank just felt awkward.

"So, can we talk to her?" Hank cut in.

"I'd love to say yes, but that's the problem."

"What problem?" Charles asked, surprised by Moira's suddenly worried tone, which she now failed to hide.

"She's not here, Charles."

"Well...where is she?" he asked simply.

"I have no idea."

"I hate to state the obvious, but that's really not a good thing." Hank sighed.

"I was getting around to telling you that." Moira stated, looking at Hank and then back at Charles, "Since you're already here, I was hoping you could help me find her."

"I can take a look," Charles reassured, before focusing intently on some intangible force of energy.

After a moment of concentration, Charles jerked back in his wheelchair.

"Well, she has definitely had this gift of hers for a while," he gritted out, as if in a small amount of pain, "She's blocking me. She clearly doesn't want to be found."

"I thought you were supposed to be the most powerful telepath in the world," Moira protested, "And you can't find her?"

"I never said that," Charles grinned, feeling rather clever, "I know where she is. However, she now knows another telepath is searching for her. We should probably hurry."

"I'll drive," Hank offered, again cutting in to be helpful.

Across town, Frankie and Peter continued to argue about whether or not it was a good idea for her to go home.

"I can just run a note over and she'll know you're okay!" he pleaded.

"She'll want to see me, Peter! A random note could be a fake from some murderer!" she argued.

"A murderer with your exact handwriting?"

"My mother doesn't know my handwriting! I'm surprised she knows my birthday!"

The conversation went on, getting more and more ridiculous. It didn't stop until Frankie grew completely silent.

"Ummm….y'okay?" Peter asked, after the silence went on too long for him.

"Yeah, it's just…" she thought out loud, "There was something else."

"What does that even mean?" Peter groaned, in no mood to divert the battle he wrongly believed that he was winning.

"It was like when I can feel people's presence with my telepathy, but...the other way around."

"So…?"

"So, someone is trying to find me, but...I think I can stop him."

"He? You know that you sound a little crazy, right?"

"Probably, but I don't wanna stay here right now!"

"Now you're getting panicky…" he worried.

"Can we just go somewhere, please?" she asked sweetly, knowing he'd say yes.

"Where to?"

"Anywhere."

It was about a half an hour after they left that the doorbell at the Maximoff house rang. Wanda, knowing no one else would, walked to go and answer it. Peter never answered the door, and their mother was still out.

"Hello?" she said flatly, as she opened the door.

"Hi, my name is-" Moira started to explain, with Hank and Charles waiting behind her.

Wanda just cut her off by waving a hand back and forth in front of her, as if to say "don't even bother".

"PETER!" she called out loudly, startling the guests, "CHARLES AND HANK ARE HERE!"

After about five second with no response, she shrugged.

"He's not here."

"We're actually looking for-" Moira started again, before being cut off again.

"They probably went out." Wanda sighed, "If you're not here for Peter, I assume you want the Frankie, right?"

"Yes." Hank answered.

"Try the arcade a few miles from here."

"Thank y-" Moira tried again.

The door slamming shut interrupted.

"Why do I try?" she groaned to herself.

True to Wanda's guess, Peter and Frankie were crowded around a pinball machine at the local arcade.

"Oh my gosh!" Frankie exclaimed, watching the score counter on the machine rise impressively fast.

Peter concentrated heavily on the bright, flashing game. He was determined to beat his last score, but he was even more determined to impress Frankie, who was leaning against the side of the machine, watching intently.

"Lots of practice!" he laughed.

"Looks more like too much free time," she joked, bumping into his shoulder with her own.

"When you move as fast as I do, there aren't enough things to occupy your time!" he slurred together excitedly, breaking his high score.

"Really?" she responded, "You can't think of anything that could kill time for you."

"Can't kill enough time. Too much time," came the fragmented response.

He was far too focused to worry about full responses now.

"So, no girlfriend I take it?" Frankie teased.

Peter froze, and the accursed pinball fell past the paddles into the machine.

"Peter?"

No movement.

"It was just a question! What gives? You never stand still for this long!"

Frankie looked around at the arcade. To her shock, no one in sight was moving. She walked a few feet away from Peter and cautiously inspected the stiff, unresponding people. She even went as far as to poke one of the other teens there. When he fell over, still not changing expression or position, she knew there was something super wrong here.

"So...this is awkward."


	8. Does She Know?

Chapter 8: Does she know?

"This is like a psycho flash mob or crap!" Frankie shouted, filling the entire building with the sound.

The only other sounds were the arcade games blinking and beeping.

"I know I didn't do this!" she thought to herself, "I'd know...right?"

_It's alright, Frankie. I've only stopped them for a moment. _

"Wha….how? Who is this?" she asked, spinning around to look for who was talking to her.

It wasn't until after she looked that she realized the voice was in her head.

"How are you in my head?" she thought back.

_I'm a telepath, much like you. I'm also a friend of your mother's. Who, by the way, is very worried about you. _

"Ah, I see," Frankie mentally scoffed, "She couldn't handle what's going on, so she brought in help. Typical."

_She didn't ask for my help. I offered it._

"Why? Who are you?" Frankie asked.

Moira, Hank, and Charles waited outside of the building, as Charles communicated with Frankie.

"Charles?" Moira questioned, "What's happening? Did you find her?"

"Yes, but-"

"Is she alright? Does she know we're here? Will she come and talk to us?" Moira questioned further, leaving no time for answering.

Charles sighed, knowing that he couldn't concentrate on everything at once.

"Hank, Peter's in there with her. I'm not sure how bad the situation is yet, but that's never a good sign."

"Who?" Moira continued interrogating, "Charles, wha-"

"Moira! Now's not a good time," Charles groaned, having to concentrate harder on the telepathic hold on the building, "I can only keep my hold on this boy for so long."

Frankie walked out of the building and looked at the trio with a confused expression.

"Mom?"

"Francesca!" her mother answered, "Are you alright? Where have you been?"

Frankie just gestured to Charles and Hank questioningly.

Charles broke his concentration away from the building to look at Frankie.

"Hello, again." he said pleasantly.

"Cool." Frankie commented, recognizing the voice as the one she had heard inside.

"I'm Professor Charles Xavier, and this is my associate Dr. Hank McCoy." he introduced, offering his hand.

"Frankie." she replied, accepting the handshake, "How'd you stop all of those people?"

"Neat, isn't it?" Charles smiled.

"Um, yeah!" Frankie added enthusiastically, "That was awesome!"

"Practice and training with telepathy can be very useful, given the time." he explained.

"Wait...can all telepaths do that?" she asked, excitement growing by the minute.

"Yes." he answered, smiling at her enthusiasm, "That and much more."

"Is that something you've gotta take years to learn for yourself or-"

"Or can it be taught?" he finished for her.

"Yeah, could say another telepath like...teach me?" she smiled.

"Well-"

"Out of the question!" Moira exclaimed in protest.

"It could, at least, merit a discussion." Charles defended.

"Charles!" Moira yelled, suddenly disagreeing with the thought of him being there.

_Perhaps it would be best to discuss this another time._

Frankie nodded slightly at the familiar telepathic voice.

"My mom can be protective. Like _really_ protective!" she thought back.

_Believe me, I know. She isn't fond of my intentions here. I'd like to talk to you more about your apparent gifts. You see, I run a very unique school for students like yourself. Well, like us. _

"Hold up!" she mentally squealed, "There's a private school for mutants?!"

_Indeed. The school is more than just that, however. We also teach students how to better control their gifts and use them as just that: gifts. _

"For real? I've been in public school for most of my life, when that was an option!?"

Moira knew the verbal silence all too well, so she interrupted.

"When I say out of the question, that doesn't mean go on talking about it!" she groaned, "Frankie, we're going to go home and talk about this."

She put her hand on Frankie's arm to emphasize her point.

"It was nice to see you again, Charles." Moira stated, more out of courtesy than anything, as she tried to lead Frankie away.

"Nope." Frankie drew out very plainly.

"What?" Moira whipped around to look at her daughter.

"I don't wanna go, so I'm not going to. I'll check in later though." she smiled and answered matter-of-factly, "I'm hanging out with a friend, who I'm surprised hasn't come out here."

"He's over by the door with Hank," Charles noted.

Sure enough, Peter stood over by the door laughing and talking with Hank, who they hadn't realized had walked away. They seemed to be having a pleasant enough conversation. Hank look irritated out of his mind, but was still being nice.

"So, I'm the only one who doesn't know who this kid is?" Moira asked Charles, pointing at Peter.

"Peter." Charles said, no louder than normally.

In an instant, Peter was standing there next to Frankie.

"Yup?" he answered, "Whatdoyouwant?"

"Oh, that's just great…" Moira thought to herself, understandably a bit concerned by the random mutant teen that her daughter was running around with

The look he gave Moira seemed innocent enough, but she could pick up on the cold indifference in it. It looked all too familiar, but she knew she had never met this boy before. His was not an easy appearance to forget. For the life of her, she couldn't place who he reminded her of.

"What?" he asked, noticing her looking at him oddly.

"Moira, this is Peter." Charles cut in, "He's...also an old friend."

"Got us out of a tough spot a little while ago," Hank said, sounding grateful.

"So, you're Frankie's mom, right?" Peter asked, seemingly evaluating Moira.

He didn't bother to wait for an answer, before turning to Frankie.

"Hey, wanna grab some food?" he asked her.

Charles let out a deep sigh, knowing that any conversation with Peter would turn south. He decided he'd rather avoid it for now. He felt as though, nothing good came from this boy, or the rest of his family for that matter. They were dangerous. However, seeing as how Frankie was in no immediate danger, he needed to play this safe.

"Frankie, if you're interested," Charles offered, handing her a business card, "Feel free to call. We're always here for you."

Frankie eagerly took the card, before Peter abruptly took it, read it, and handed it back.

"That place is back open?" he wondered out loud, still not waiting long enough to hear an answer, "I'm hungry. Frankie, let's go."

"Okay, fine." Frankie consented.

"I'll even walk with you, slow poke!"

"By Professor. It was nice to meet you, "Frankie waved sweetly, before Peter pulled her toward the sidewalk in whatever direction he knew there was food.

"Frankie, wait!" Moira called after them.

"I'll call later...or something!" Frankie replied, not truly listening to Moira's opinion.

"She does not get that stubbornness from me! And I really don't have a good feeling about that boy!"

"He's relatively harmless…" Hank encouraged half-heartedly.

"He's a pain in the arse…" Charles muttered, pessimistically.

"Do you think he knows yet?" Hank asked charles, "About his father, I mean."

"I'm not sure." Charles answered thoughtfully, "The real question about fathers isn't Peter."

"Then what is it?"

"Does she know?"


End file.
